


iron and wine

by cherryvaleska



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Church Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Stalking, Jeremiah Valeska Being a Creep, Kidnapping, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Restraints, Vampire Jeremiah Valeska, well. more like obsessive love, why isn't that its own tag like hello did we all watch the same show here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26781715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvaleska/pseuds/cherryvaleska
Summary: Jeremiah loves him so much that it hurts.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 16
Kudos: 114





	iron and wine

**Author's Note:**

> the fact that i write so slowly pains me so bad, you all do not understand. anyway, i've been working on this since the beginning of september and i really wanted to get it uploaded faster, but i figured october would be a better fit anyway. since, you know, vampires. halloween. you get the idea.
> 
> also, i bumped bruce's age up here. there's no particular reason behind it, because i have absolutely no issue writing underage (though bruce wasn't even underage anyway during this part in the timeline) i just figured jeremiah pining over bruce for two years would be more fun than just one. sue me. don't look too deeply into the logistics of vampires in this verse, i just went with whatever i wanted so don't expect anything like. i don't know. the lost boys or interview with the vampire etc. they drink blood and wine and that is enough for me thank you.
> 
> fair warning that this is DEFINITELY dubcon, especially in the beginning of the sexy times.
> 
> happy halloween month you guys!

Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah finds, is extremely enchanting in the candlelight.

It doesn’t come as a surprise, really. Bruce is always gorgeous, one of the prettiest boys Jeremiah has ever had the pleasure of setting eyes on, and he only continues to get prettier as he ages. He’s more a man than a boy now, but to Jeremiah, he’ll always be that brave, determined, beautifully stubborn boy that Jeremiah had met two years ago. 

Bruce is a work of art. Soft, perfectly styled curls that Jeremiah aches to run his fingers through. Beautiful dark eyes framed by soft lashes that Jeremiah has and often does find himself getting lost in. Plush pink lips that are practically beggingfor Jeremiah to kiss, to lick, to _bite._ The new blood-red lipstick he’d bought last week would look marvelous smeared against Bruce’s lips. 

Jeremiah loves him so much it hurts. 

He’s seen Bruce framed by so many different lightings: daylight, the blue hues of Jeremiah’s old office, streetlights, moonlight, the bright lights in his manor’s kitchen, the soft lights in his office and in his bedroom. Bruce had been beautiful in all of them, but candlelight is definitely one of his new favorites. However, seeing Bruce’s features smoothed as he slept unaware of Jeremiah’s presence, awash in the shallow ambers of his bedside light, would always take the top spot of his list. 

For now, that is.

Jeremiah sighs dreamily, absentmindedly swirling the glass of wine in his free hand, his cheek resting against the fist of the other. Bruce sits across from him in all his beauty, neck and collarbone exposed to the church’s cool air and Jeremiah delights to note that he can see the faintest of goosebumps sprinkling Bruce’s smooth flesh. 

He licks his lips.

Bruce is so close to him that he can smell the warm blood running through his veins, can hear the _thump-thump_ of his beating heart, can practically taste the sweetness of Bruce’s blood in the air. It makes saliva pool in his mouth and his fangs ache. 

“Are you just going to spend all night staring at me,” Bruce begins, rousing Jeremiah’s attention, “or are you going to tell me why you had me _kidnapped_ and tied to a chair?” He tugs at his bonds as if to emphasize his point. 

Jeremiah’s lips pull into a ruby smile. 

“I’m not adverse to the idea of looking at you all night, Bruce. How could I ever tire of your pretty face?” 

Bruce’s expression hardens, anger settling on his face. “Answer me.” He snaps. 

Jeremiah sighs. Swirls the wine again. “No need to be all piss and vinegar, my darling. I simply wanted to talk to you about the two of us advancing to the next stage of our relationship. This-” He tips his glass toward Bruce, “-was just the easiest way to get you to listen, since you seem so intent on running away from me all the time.” 

“Have you ever considered that just maybe there’s a reason why I run from you?” Jeremiah chooses to ignore that, until Bruce adds, “And we _don’t_ have a relationship.”

Jeremiah purses his lips. “Don’t be so willfully obtuse, it’s not very becoming of you.” He brings the glass to his lips, eyeing the jumping pulse in Bruce’s neck as he sips his wine. Oh, how he would love to cut Bruce, just a little. Just enough to where he could hold his glass to the wound and let his precious blood run inside, let it mix with the sweet wine. It would be the finest of ambrosias and Jeremiah aches at the thought of it. “You know that I love you. I’ve made that explicitly clear over the past two years. I’ve shown my love for you in so many ways, and now, I want to show it in another way. A more… intimate way.” 

“You’re crazy.” Bruce spits and Jeremiah frowns. 

“Now, Bruce, there’s-”

“Were you showing your ‘love’ for me when you manipulated me? When you knocked me out and threw me in a grave with your dead brother?” 

Jeremiah’s fingers tighten around his glass.

“Were you showing your ‘love’ for me when you and Ra’s almost killed me?” Bruce doesn’t stop, his voice rising in pitch with his anger as he continues. “What about when you blew up the bridges and sent all of Gotham into chaos? Countless people died. Are dying, every day. Because of _you_.” 

“Bruce-” The glass strains in his hand.

“Or how about when you- when you tried to _murder_ Selina right in front of me?” 

The wine glass shatters and Bruce jumps. Glass goes flying and the legs of the wine splatters against the tablecloth, staining it, ruining it. Jeremiah flicks his wrist, shaking out some of the glass shards sticking to his glove. Some of them have cut through it and stuck into his skin, but they'll fall out as he heals. It won’t take long. 

“I’m not going to continue to tolerate this attitude, Bruce.” He says, looking at Bruce with eyes as cold as his voice. “I brought you here so that we could talk, and so that I could show you how much I love you.” Bruce’s lip curls at that and Jeremiah slams his hand down onto the table. Glass digs sharper into his palm. Bruce jerks and if Jeremiah weren’t as annoyed as he was, he might feel bad about being so brutish. “Perhaps I’ve somehow not been clear enough with how I feel for you, or perhaps you’re simply too _distracted_ by certain unnecessary affiliations you choose to have to notice. Regardless, I brought you here for a reason, and if you aren’t going to be _civil_ then, well--” He rolls his shoulder in a shrug, “-neither am I.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Jeremiah reclines in his chair, raises his other hand and snaps his fingers twice. 

His cultists flood out of the darkness into the candlelight, all harsh lines and pale masks, and they cut Bruce’s restraints only to take hold of his wrists. They ignore his loud protests as they slam him onto the table. Jeremiah tsks as his bottle of wine is jostled and knocked over, sighing as he listens to it pour out on the floor. What a shame. He’d rather liked that ruby port. Oh well, Ecco will surely find him another bottle.

His followers bind Bruce’s wrists together and one of them takes the rope and disappears under the table, yanking Bruce’s arms over his head and connecting the rope to the bottom of the table’s leg. Jeremiah knows it must be terribly uncomfortable, but he figures Bruce can just deal with it for now. Jeremiah will be sure to make up for it soon, and then some. 

Bruce pulls at the rope, a stream of angry sounds falling from his pretty pink lips, shooting nasty looks between the cultists and Jeremiah himself as he demands for answers. 

He’s ignored by all, of course, and Jeremiah’s oh so loyal subjects turn to him expectantly, eagerly awaiting any further orders. Jeremiah dismisses them with a flick of a wrist as he gets to his feet, and they leave the room as quietly as they came as Jeremiah rounds the table.

It’s just the two of them now, just Jeremiah and Bruce, just how Jeremiah likes it. 

Just how it should be.

* * *

Jeremiah’s knife had made quick and easy work of Bruce’s clothing, cutting through one of Bruce’s trademark black turtlenecks and his -- surely overpriced -- black slacks with ease. He’d even managed to avoid nicking Bruce with it as he bucked and struggled, and Jeremiah’s kind of proud of himself for that. Cutting Bruce, marking Bruce, spilling his blood, it all has to have a meaning behind it and accidental nicks don’t fit that bill. 

All irritation or anger Jeremiah had felt immediately seeps out of him when he’s greeted with the sight before him.

Bruce is bare before him, naked and red faced and _beautiful_.

“Oh, Bruce..” Jeremiah coos, his eyes greedily taking in every inch of Bruce’s exposed skin, from his face, to his pointy collarbones, his flushed chest, all the way down to the soft cock against his thigh. It’s pretty and pink just like Jeremiah knew it would be. “You’re beautiful, darling.” 

Bruce glares at him and stubbornly presses his legs closed, like it’ll actually shield any of him from Jeremiah’s hungry eyes. He’s embarrassed and nervous, Jeremiah can see it on his face and hear it in the sped up hammer of his pounding heart. But it’s okay, Jeremiah will take care of him. 

“Don’t be nervous. I’m not going to hurt you.” Well, maybe a little, but Bruce doesn’t need to hear that right now. He rids himself of his gloves and drops them to the floor, flexing his formerly injured hand. He needs to touch Bruce, skin on skin. Fabric on skin isn't enough. 

“You’ll have to excuse me if I find that hard to believe. People who don’t want to hurt people don’t typically kidnap them, tie them up, and then _cut_ them out of their clothes.” 

Jeremiah takes a step towards him to close the gap. He can’t bear the distance, he couldn’t before but now that Bruce is naked and right in front of him, the temptation is too hard to resist. 

Bruce flinches away from him -- the best that he can, since he can’t really go far thanks to the rope around his wrists -- his glare hardening and his hackles clearly raised. 

Jeremiah smiles at him, holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s okay.” He repeats, hushing Bruce as if he’s some wild, scared animal. It doesn’t do much, but Bruce doesn’t kick him when Jeremiah’s hands come in contact with his legs, he merely twitches, so Jeremiah will take it as a victory. 

And god, what a victory it is.

He practically shudders, full body, at the sensation of Bruce’s soft, warm skin under his. It’s almost enough to give him a headrush, and he rubs his thumbs soothingly into Bruce’s skin wherever he can. 

And then, because patience has never been a quality that Jeremiah had had an everlasting well of, and because he’s waited literally years to touch Bruce, he can’t help himself. He moves even closer, pushing Bruce’s legs apart to reach him better and ignoring Bruce’s scathing, but shaky, snap of his name, pretending he doesn’t hear Bruce tell him to stop it, to get away from him. 

There’s the slightest of trembles in Jeremiah’s fingers as he rubs his hand down Bruce’s chest. His skin so warm, so soft, so full of life. Jeremiah wants to press himself against him so tight they become one. He wants to split him open and see his insides, see if they’re just as pretty as he is on the outside. He wants to drain him dry and fill him up all at once. He wants to fuck him so hard all he can think and feel and breathe is Jeremiah. He wants to be fucked by him and make him feel so good that he’ll never look elsewhere, never even _think_ about anyone else but Jeremiah, Jeremiah, _Jeremiah_.

He wants to worship and be worshipped. He wants to ruin and be ruined. 

Jeremiah looks at Bruce laid out before him like the richest of meals, pretty and perfect and built like a bird, all sharp, fragile, breakable edges covered in the softest of features. Bare and naked and _alive._ He’s so beautiful, so ethereal, and Jeremiah has never felt so full of love. He wants to soak Bruce in his love, drown him in it.

His hand trails down from Bruce’s chest, smooths over his belly and the soft trail of hair there, feeling the way the muscles underneath move and clench, feeling Bruce’s shaky exhale, and down to the jut of his hip. He strokes his thumb over the bone and sighs happily. Bruce will see. Jeremiah will love him and make love to him, will drink from him while he’s inside of him, and Bruce will see. Bruce will see that Jeremiah’s love is the only thing he needs. 

He doesn’t waste time after that. Touching Bruce like this is a tease, a hit, an indoctrination to an addiction he needs more, more, _more_ of a fix to treat. Jeremiah rids himself of his jacket, his tie, shirt, all of his clothes-- 

“Jeremiah, wait, wait--” 

\--until he’s just as bare and naked as Bruce is. Fully naked with another man in the boughs of a church, fully intending to further indulge this sin by fucking the love of his life until he can think no more. How debauched, how blasphemous. Jeremiah loves it. He hopes Lila’s corpse is rolling in her grave. 

Bruce's eyes -- hesitantly, and then openly -- trail over him, and Jeremiah tries not to let himself preen too hard over the sensation of Bruce looking at him. He fails and Bruce notices. He scoffs and looks away, looking as though he’s trying very hard to make himself look unbothered. But Jeremiah isn’t blind, he could see the spark of interest in those dark eyes. 

That, and the twitch of Bruce’s cock hadn’t been particularly subtle. 

He momentarily entertains the thought of slicking his cock up with Bruce’s blood, but he can’t bear to waste such a precious gift.

Though, it does give him an idea.

Jeremiah brings his hand to his mouth and sinks his fangs into his palm. 

He’s well fed, he can afford to bleed a little, especially for an occasion such as this. 

He pulls his hand away, watching the blood race down his wrist just for a moment, and before he can set it towards its intended use, Bruce interrupts him. 

“Does that hurt?” He asks, and his tone is oddly accusatory behind the shakiness of his nervousness like he hopes that it does. 

Jeremiah twists his hand to-and-fro, eyeing his blood as it shines in the candlelight. He wonders if it would look just as pretty on Bruce. 

Who is he kidding, of course it would. 

“Not really, no. I’ve always had a high tolerance for pain anyway.” He pauses, his eyes flicking to Bruce’s face. He smiles wryly. “Especially when you’re on my mind, my love. I’m willing to deal with any sort of pain if it means putting me even an inch closer to you.” Gordon’s ‘visit’ to him during his short stay at the G.C.P.D comes to mind. Gordon beating him black and blue while all Jeremiah could think and ask for was Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne, _Bruce Wayne_.

“I’d find that flattering if you weren’t a criminal that sent this city into total despair. And if you didn’t have me tied up.”

Jeremiah makes an amused sound. 

“Well, like I said, I only had you bound because I had to, Bruce. How else were you going to listen to me? You’re extremely headstrong when you want to be, and as endearing as I find that quality, sometimes I just need you to sit still and be a good boy.” 

Bruce inhales sharply at the latter words, and Jeremiah quirks an eyebrow. 

Interesting. Very interesting. He’ll have to file that nifty little tidbit of information away for later.

Then Jeremiah lowers his hand and curls his bloody fingers around his cock, stroking it from head to base, coating it in his blood. He glances up at Bruce from under his eyelashes. 

Bruce is watching him again. Watching Jeremiah’s hand. Watching his blood wet cock slide through his palm and his fingers. He can hear how fast Bruce’s heart is fluttering away in his chest. It makes a shiver work through Jeremiah’s body and his cock twitches in his hand. Bruce bites his lip and Jeremiah notes with immense pleasure that Bruce’s face is pink. He’s so cute. Jeremiah’s going to make him feel so good. 

“All for you, my love.” Jeremiah coos, and Bruce’s face flushes even darker as he pointedly looks away again. “There’s no need to be shy,” Jeremiah tells him, amused and smitten all in one. He strokes the fingers of his free hand along Bruce’s thigh, purrs at the way he seems to twitch them open a fraction wider. All for Jeremiah. 

“Maybe I’m not being shy. Maybe I just don’t want this.” Bruce says hotly, but Jeremiah doesn’t let it bother him. He knows the truth, he’s quite literally looking at it with his own two eyes. 

“I don’t think that’s true. Look at you.” Jeremiah releases his own cock, and his blood slick fingers curl around Bruce’s blood dark cock. The jerk of Bruce’s hips and the tremble in his thighs as Jeremiah gives him a solid stroke is immensely satisfying. “You certainly look like you want this. Maybe your mind hasn’t quite caught up to speed, but your body tells me all that I need to know.”

“That’s- that’s not how this works,” Bruce gasps, squirming against the table as Jeremiah strokes him steadily, twisting his wrist. Jeremiah shrugs. 

“Not usually, no, but you and I both know you’ve gotten yourself out of more difficult binds before. I didn’t have you handcuffed, my love.” One of his free fingers traces a heart against the skin of Bruce’s inner thigh. “I wouldn't do this with you if I wasn't sure that you could get away if you really wanted to. I also didn’t restrain your legs, yet you haven’t made any attempt to use them--” 

Bruce’s foot connects with his shin and Jeremiah grunts, but there’s not nearly enough force behind the action to convince Jeremiah that he truly didn’t want this. He knows Bruce is strong, he’s seen him fight and he’d felt the muscle underneath his soft skin. 

If Bruce really wanted to get away from him, he would have already. 

“--that doesn’t count.” Jeremiah says pointedly, giving Bruce’s cock a soft squeeze, relishing in the whimper that he gets in response. “I know that you’ve always wanted this, or at least, something like it. I’m not blind, Bruce, I never have been, not even before I became my true self. I saw the way you would look at me when we worked together.” 

Bruce’s breath hitches audibly, and it makes Jeremiah smile. His hand picks up the pace, blood and Bruce’s precome mixing together, the lewd, slick sounds of Bruce’s cock slipping through his hand bouncing off the church’s walls.

“I thought about you so often, Bruce. About making love to you, about fucking you.” Bruce makes a high sound that goes straight to Jeremiah’s cock. “What about you? Did you think about me? Did you think about me splitting you open on my cock, kissing away your sweet little moans while I fucked you, when you were alone in that big, empty room of yours? Did you ever touch yourself to the thought of what I’d do to you?”

Bruce makes the same high sound as before, his hips jerking in needy little aborted thrusts. He’s so beautiful, so perfect, and Jeremiah tells him as much in a voice as full of love and reverence as it can possibly be, and Bruce _trembles._ “J-Jeremiah,” His darling whines, his head thumping back against the wood of the table, exposing the column of his pretty little throat. Saliva pools in Jeremiah’s mouth at the sight, and his fangs ache. He wants to sink them into Bruce’s flesh and gorge himself on Bruce’s sweet blood while he fills him with his cock. 

But he doesn’t bite him, not yet. He holds himself back, with only the smallest threads of self control. He has to swallow heavily before he speaks again. 

“Yes, Bruce?” 

“Jeremiah, _Jeremiah_ -” He moans, and it takes everything in Jeremiah not to pounce on him right then and there. He’d dreamed about Bruce saying his name like this for years, and now that he’s faced with the reality of it he can hardly stand it. 

“What is it, darling? Tell me.” 

“Please- don’t, don’t stop.”

Jeremiah considers it. Bruce begs so prettily, so sweetly, and it’s incredibly tempting to keep going like this, to let Bruce fall apart from nothing but Jeremiah’s hand. But that’s not what Jeremiah has planned. He wants Bruce to come on his cock, sob and cry and scream Jeremiah’s name while he fucks into him. He wants to fuck him like a whore and treasure and adore him like a lover. 

He pulls his hand away and Bruce makes the most desperate, borderline heartbroken whine Jeremiah has ever heard, his hips canting up like he’s chasing Jeremiah’s touch. It fills Jeremiah with a deep rooted satisfaction. He knew Bruce wanted this, despite all his earlier theatrics. Call him self-absorbed, but oh how he _loves_ being right. 

Bruce makes a soft questioning sound, lifting his head to look up at Jeremiah, and Jeremiah smiles sweetly at him before he drives his thumbnail into his palm, reopening the bite. “As cute as you are when you’re begging for me, darling, I’m afraid you’ll have to have some patience. We can’t have you coming before I even get inside of you, can we?” 

Bruce’s face twists, like he’s not sure if he agrees, and he opens his mouth to speak but cuts himself off with a yelp, jerking as Jeremiah squeezes his palm and drips blood onto him. It slides down his sack, down between his cheeks and Jeremiah is almost obsessed with the sight. The idea of slicking Bruce’s hole up with his own blood, like it’s flavored lube, and eating him out comes to mind and it’s…well, Jeremiah files it away for later. Maybe he can afford to let Bruce bleed for _that._

“What are you _doing_?” Bruce pulls him out of his fantasy, and there’s a mix of disgust and something else in his voice. He jerks against his rope and Jeremiah almost wishes Bruce didn’t have to be tied up to behave. A shame. 

Jeremiah hushes him, smoothing his bloody fingers down over Bruce’s sack, feeling more than seeing the way Bruce twitches as a result. “I have to prepare you, Bruce. I don’t want to hurt you--” Not like that, at least. “--and I want to make sure you feel good. So this is necessary.” 

Not that Jeremiah has absolutely any issue doing this. Honestly, he could probably get off on just fingering Bruce open, but that’s beside the point. 

“Don’t you know the basics of anal sex?” Jeremiah inquires, and he actually hopes that Bruce’s knowledge of it is only general and not from experience. He wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn't, Bruce is a grown man now and he’s gorgeous, and he’d made quite the playboy image for himself, much to Jeremiah’s quiet distaste. But the idea of someone touching _his_ Bruce like this, of someone _inside_ of him that wasn’t Jeremiah… it makes something venomous and possessive flare in his chest, and perhaps he’s a little rougher than he should be when he pushes Bruce’s legs open wider with his free hand. 

Bruce’s face flushes even darker -- if possible -- and he huffs as if Jeremiah offended him. “I do know them, thank you, I have some experience--” Oh, Jeremiah _hates_ that. He’ll find out who it was, find the vile little slut who thought he or she had the right, the gall, the _audacity_ to even breathe near his darling, and he’ll _rip their fucking throat out_ , he’ll-- “-- but never from.. this side.” His nose scrunches up before he adds, “And never with blood. Which, by the way, strikes me as entirely unsanitary.”

He’s disappointed and still vaguely angry that some harlot had had his love’s cock inside of them before Jeremiah could. He bets it was that fucking street rat, fucking Selina, that little bitch, that _whore_. He wishes he’d killed her, should have shot her in the fucking heart instead of the gut. He’ll find her again, it won’t be hard, and he'll make her pay for it. Jeremiah’s fingers stroke down between Bruce’s cheeks, slicking them with his blood and Bruce’s breath audibly hitches as Jeremiah’s fingers brush against his hole. As angry as he is, the fact that _he_ will be the first one inside of Bruce is a deeply gratifying one.

“It’s no more unsanitary than my spit in your mouth or my come inside of you, Bruce. Don’t be dramatic.” 

Without warning, he breaches Bruce with one of his fingers, up to the second knuckle and Bruce jerks again, gasping, “Wait!”  
  
Jeremiah only barely holds back an impatient sound, but he manages. He stops, flicking his eyes up to Bruce’s face, quirking an eyebrow. 

Bruce is pulling at his rope again, his head raised, and he looks nervous. Jeremiah can hear the anxious little pitter patter of his heart. Bruce’s eyes flit between down below, where Jeremiah’s finger is still inside of him, up to Jeremiah’s face. “That isn’t going to do anything, is it?”

Jeremiah tilts his head. “What do you mean?” 

“Your blood--” He clarifies, hesitating, looking especially distressed, before adding. “--inside of me. It’s not going to cause any... changes, right?” 

A quiet pause.

Jeremiah giggles. Bruce is so painfully cute, bless him.

“No, it won’t. I promise you.” He doesn’t wait for Bruce to give him the go ahead to move, instead he sinks his finger completely inside of Bruce, eagerly drinking in the sound of his resounding whimper. “You don’t know much about ones like me, do you Bruce?” He inquires, beginning to thrust his finger. 

Bruce squirms and Jeremiah is sure to keep his free hand pushed against Bruce’s knee, keeping him spread in case Bruce gets any ideas to close his legs for the second time. “I can’t say that I do. You- You and your brother, you're the first two I've ever met.” He manages, his voice climbing higher as Jeremiah presses a second finger to his hole, hissing softly as it slowly begins to push inside of him as well. 

Jeremiah hums, decidedly ignoring the mention of his brother and listening to the obscene, slick sounds that resonate as he pumps his fingers in and out of Bruce, adoring the soft mewls that he slowly begins to voice as he gets used to it. “It’s not the blood that brings on the change. It’s not the bite, either.” He presses in deeper, looking, searching--

“Ah!” 

Bruce jolts like he’s been shocked, arching his back. Jeremiah smiles, satisfied. Perfect. He rubs up against that spot again, Bruce’s resulting moan like music to his ears. He can’t wait to be inside of him, to turn Bruce’s brilliant, sharp mind to fucked out mush. 

“It’s the venom.”

And Jeremiah fully intends to use his venom for such a purpose one day, but he doesn’t tell Bruce that. He’ll find out when the time comes. 

Bruce doesn’t answer him, but Jeremiah doesn’t expect him to, not with the way he writhes and mewls against the table as Jeremiah continues to finger fuck him, purposely rubbing against the spot that drives Bruce mad. He stops every time Bruce seems to get close to coming, and every time Bruce whines when he’s denied what he so clearly wants. It’s endearing, and Jeremiah keeps the rhythm up -- with an astounding amount of patience and self restraint, given how fucking hard his cock is right now -- until Bruce looks like he’s close to sobbing from how badly he wants to come, pleading with Jeremiah in cracked and broken mewls to _please, please let him come_. 

Jeremiah pulls his fingers out of Bruce, hushing him when he makes a needy sound, and takes hold of his bloodied cock. He shifts closer, lining himself up, pressing the head of his cock to Bruce’s hole, and then- 

Then he’s pushing inside, slowly, slowly, until he bottoms out, and it’s-

It’s _heaven._

His hands clutch Bruce’s hips and he can’t help but moan, and Bruce echoes the sound, his head dipping back against the table once more. 

Bruce is so hot, so tight, so wet around him, and Jeremiah doesn’t think he’s ever felt so good before in his entire life. He’s had sex before, countless times with countless men, some before he’d met Bruce and some after, but Bruce… Bruce is already the best he’s ever had, even if Jeremiah’s love for him does make him a tad biased. 

He draws back and then snaps his hips forward. 

Bruce, unable to help himself, squeals. 

Jeremiah needs to hear that sound again, again and again and again. 

He does it a few more times, just to draw out the punched and jerky, high pitched sounds, until he sets up a rhythm. Not too fast, not to slow, but deep. Bruce’s hard cock smacks against his belly with every thrust. 

“You’re so perfect, Bruce, taking me so well. Does my cock feel good, darling?” 

Bruce chokes out a high moan, dipping his head forward to nod, cracking his eyes open to watch Jeremiah as his cock presses inside of him over and over and over. Jeremiah doesn’t really expect him to say anything, but he does. 

“Yes,” Bruce manages, biting his lip before it slips free when he mewls again, “fuck, Jere-Jeremiah, yes, oh, _god_ -” And then his eyes slip closed again, and as much as Jeremiah wants Bruce to look at him, _look at them_ , he knows it’s because he’s making Bruce feel too good to stand to keep them open, so it’s fine. There’s always next time. 

Jeremiah has been dreaming of this day for years, so as much as he would love to drag this out, to spend hours and hours filling Bruce with his cock and making him fall apart, he knows that he can’t. He can’t last that long, not right now. 

Jeremiah rocks into him, clutching, grasping at every bit of skin he can touch. It’s not enough, he needs to memorize every inch of Bruce’s perfect body and then cover him in marks so that nobody, not even Bruce will ever question who he belongs to. They’re destined to be together, bound together in ways that Jeremiah knows that not even the most idealistic of romantics could ever understand. From the first day that they met, Jeremiah knew this. From the first time their eyes met, the first touch, the first word, it was the shifting of an axis and from that moment Jeremiah’s heart, soul, his very being revolved around Bruce and Bruce only. 

Jeremiah loves him reverently, unconditionally, irrevocably. 

“I love you.” He worships, leaning over Bruce’s body to bury his face in that pretty little neck. Bruce hiccups wetly and Jeremiah feels like he’s going to burn from the inside out. “I love you, I love you, I love you, Bruce- _Bruce,_ I love you-” Jeremiah mantras, his fingers hooking into Bruce’s hips, sure to paint them with purple and blue splashes like watercolor on a canvas. He fucks into Bruce roughly, desperately, and Bruce takes it like he’s meant to, sobbing out the most beautiful moans and cries. Jeremiah’s eyes just about roll back into his head when Bruce’s legs hook around Jeremiah’s driving hips, clinging onto him just as desperately as Jeremiah clings to him, and Jeremiah can’t help but moan into Bruce’s neck. “Darling boy, precious boy, perfect boy, _my_ perfect boy,” He says into the flesh, shuddering when Bruce whines, clenching around him. 

“J-Jeremiah, oh god, oh fuck!” Bruce cries under him, and Jeremiah thinks he’s never felt a greater high than the one he gets from hearing Bruce call his name so wantonly.

He presses kisses along Bruce’s throat, nibbles and mouths at his soft skin. “I love you, Bruce. I love you so much.” His hands move from Bruce’s hips, sliding up under Bruce’s back, hooking onto his shoulders from behind. He’s practically crushing Bruce’s body with his own, but it’s not enough. It’s not close enough. He digs his nails in and uses the hold to pull Bruce into meeting his thrusts, no longer pulling out, driving himself as deep inside of his love as he can get with every move, and Bruce _wails_. Bruce’s cock is trapped between them, rubbing against Jeremiah with every thrust, drooling precum and covering both of their bellies in the mess.

Jeremiah sucks bruise after bruise into Bruce’s neck, grinding into him with increased fervor and Bruce arches with a desperate sob. “Please, please, Je-Jeremiah, please-” Jeremiah can smell the salt of his tears, and he aches to lick them away. “Don’t, don’t stop! I’m- I’m so--” He dissolves into a loud keen, urgently squirming and twisting, his legs locked so tightly around Jeremiah’s hips as if he’s worried Jeremiah’s going to go somewhere. 

He wouldn’t, of course. Jeremiah would never leave him, especially not like this.

“Bruce, Bruce,” He croons, lifting his head to press soft kisses to Bruce’s jawline, his cheek, peppering them back down to Bruce’s neck. He licks over Bruce’s jumping pulse. The sweetness of his blood beckons to Jeremiah, and he aches, he _aches_.

“I love you.” He gasps, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” He rubs his lips over Bruce’s pulse. God, he’s close. He’s so fucking close. “ _Love me_ , Bruce. Love- love me, love me, please, love me,” Jeremiah babbles, high and breathy, into Bruce’s throat, one of his hands sliding down between their bodies to wrap around Bruce’s leaking cock, jacking him tightly, quickly. “Love me, _love me._ Love me more than anyone else, love me like I love you, _fuck._ ” 

Bruce moans so loudly, so needily, he’s so perfect and tight and hot around Jeremiah, so sweet and beautiful underneath of him, and his blood is _right there_ , right under his skin, flowing and pulsing so close to Jeremiah’s fangs and Jeremiah-

Jeremiah can’t fucking take it any longer. 

He slams his hips harshly, grinds his cock inside of Bruce as deep and as hard as he can, and his fangs slip past his lips, puncturing the sweet skin of Bruce’s throat. He almost tunes out Bruce’s sharp cry as blood rushes into his mouth. He’s tasted Bruce’s blood before, but never like this, never during something so intimate and that makes it all the better. His blood is sweet, decadent, _heavenly_ and explicitly _sinful_ all in one _,_ and it’s enough to snap the coil winding so tightly in his gut. Jeremiah comes with a low, guttural moan, the sound vibrating into Bruce’s skin, and Bruce trembles as Jeremiah fills him with his come. 

Jeremiah takes in mouthful after mouthful of blood, the excess running down past his mouth and sliding down Bruce’s throat, his chest, smearing and sticking against Jeremiah as he shallowly grinds into Bruce.

It doesn’t take long for Bruce to tumble over the edge. He cries out Jeremiah’s name, loud, high and thready, jerking and spasming under Jeremiah, and he clenches around Jeremiah’s oversensitive cock so hard, so perfectly that Jeremiah almost thinks he could come again just from that. Come spills over Jeremiah’s hand, smearing against his stomach, Bruce’s stomach, and Jeremiah continues to stroke him through his orgasm until Bruce is a whimpering and hiccupping mess below him. 

Jeremiah doesn’t think he’s ever experienced a more perfect moment. Bruce’s blood in his mouth, Bruce’s thighs locked around his hips as if he’s just as afraid Jeremiah would slip away as Jeremiah worries Bruce would, Bruce’s beautiful little panted out sounds filling the church’s drafty air. It almost feels like a holy, spiritual experience and the irony of such a thought isn’t lost on him. 

He keeps an ear tuned to the sound of Bruce’s heartbeat as he drinks. He doesn’t want to drink so much that he causes any damage to Bruce, because as delicious as he is Jeremiah could never live with himself if he accidentally drained Bruce dry just because he couldn’t control himself. It would be far too easy and Jeremiah is aware of this, so he stops himself soon after, lifting his fangs from Bruce’s flesh with a satisfied sound and Bruce moans softly at the sting. He presses bloody kisses up Bruce’s throat, to his chin, and then finally, to his lips. Bruce doesn’t respond, at first, but soon he kisses back, making a muted sound as his lips slide against Jeremiah’s. It’s the first time they’ve ever kissed, and Jeremiah doesn’t think it could have happened at a better moment. 

It’s perfect. 

But it can’t last forever, because while Jeremiah may not need to breathe Bruce certainly does, so once Jeremiah’s kiss quota is satisfied -- for now -- he pulls away. He looks down at Bruce, who is all flushed cheeks and wet eyes and swollen red lips, and god, he’s so beautiful. 

“I love you.” Jeremiah tells him again, smoothing his hand down the softness of Bruce’s wet, hot cheek. 

“I know.” Bruce replies, softer and more melancholy than Jeremiah would prefer and it’s unfortunately not a requite of Jeremiah’s love for him, but it’s an acknowledgement, an _acceptance_ of Jeremiah’s feelings nonetheless, so he’ll take it. He’ll take whatever he can from Bruce until Bruce can accept the truth of his own feelings. 

Beaming, Jeremiah runs his finger through the blood leaking from the punctures on Bruce’s neck. He moves down to Bruce’s chest and presses his finger against the skin here and there. Jeremiah tilts his head to admire his handiwork. 

A bloody _J + B_ looks back at him from its spot right on Bruce’s heart. 

Perhaps it’s a bit juvenile of him, but Jeremiah cannot help but be endeared by the sight. 

Bruce looks tired -- and maybe a little lightheaded, which leads Jeremiah to believe perhaps he took just a _little_ too much blood from him, but it’s nothing too bad -- and he doesn’t look like he’s in any position to run away anytime soon, so Jeremiah has no problem procuring the knife from earlier. He cuts the rope and drops the knife along with it, and his hand chases after Bruce’s as they come down to his chest, a soft, relieved sound rising in Bruce’s throat. Jeremiah wraps a hand around one of Bruce’s wrists and brings it to his mouth, pressing an apologetic kiss to the irritated skin. 

“It’s fine.” Bruce tells him, voice subdued. He sounds so tired, but that’s okay, Jeremiah has a remedy for all things. 

He lifts himself off of Bruce and slowly pulls out, listening to Bruce hiss quietly. He pauses only to watch the pink mixture of his blood and his come start to seep out of Bruce’s hole and onto the tablecloth and faintly, he thinks about doing it all over again. Fucking Bruce and forcing orgasm after orgasm after orgasm out of him until he passes out. 

But Bruce looks exhausted and wrung out, and Jeremiah takes pity on him and postpones that idea for another day, so with ease he gathers Bruce in his arms like the bride Jeremiah so wishes that Bruce will be one day and lifts him up, hushing Bruce when he protests softly. 

“Where are we going?” Bruce mumbles from Jeremiah’s collarbone, his arms coming up to loosely curl around Jeremiah’s neck, holding onto him, and if it could, Jeremiah thinks his heart would skip a beat at how unbelievably cuteBruce is being right now. 

“To bed, darling.” 

Bruce is quiet as Jeremiah moves through the hallways, and he almost thinks that Bruce has fallen asleep in his arms before he speaks again, sniffling a little. 

“Okay.” 

And soon, Jeremiah is tucking Bruce into the rich purple sheets of Jeremiah’s bed, centered in a room that had been repurposed. There’s not much in it, just his bed, his wardrobe and a dresser with his makeup and so forth, and it’s never particularly felt like _home_ \-- he can’t think of many physical places that have really ever felt that way -- but with Bruce in it, he thinks maybe it feels something like it. Or maybe Bruce himself is Jeremiah’s home, and anywhere Bruce is brings along that feeling. 

Jeremiah climbs into the bed beside him, nestling under the blanket and cuddling up to Bruce. They’re both on their sides, facing each other, and Jeremiah lifts his hand to press against Bruce’s cheek. Those gorgeous dark eyes flutter open to stare him, a bit more dim than usual but beautiful nonetheless. 

“I thought vampires slept in coffins.” 

Uttering a quiet laugh, Jeremiah brushes Bruce’s sweaty curls off his forehead.

“I’m afraid you watch too many movies, Bruce. Movie magic is very rarely reality. Why? Are you disappointed?” 

“No,” Bruce begins sleepily, “I don’t think I’d want to sleep in a coffin.”

Jeremiah hums at that, traces his fingers down Bruce’s face. Bruce will never sleep in a coffin, in any sense. Jeremiah will make sure of that, whether Bruce wants him to or not. 

“Enough about that, now. Go to sleep, Bruce.” 

Bruce doesn’t fight him on that, too tired and worn to even try, and his eyes slip closed. Soon, his breathing evens out and Jeremiah knows he’s slipped away to the land of dreams. 

He sighs a bit wistfully.

It would be- will be a shame to change Bruce, when the time comes. He can’t imagine what it will be like to see Bruce and not hear the pound of his heart, how it ticks up when Jeremiah draws near. To see Bruce and not smell nor taste the purity and sweetness of his blood as it is now. It’s a monumental loss, but Jeremiah will never be willing to part with Bruce. Now that he’s drinking human blood again, Jeremiah would long outlive him if he were to remain human. 

So, he can’t. Bruce staying human is out of the question. 

He strokes his thumb over Bruce’s bottom lip, spreading around the blood and lipstick. Keeping him well fed won’t be easy. Bruce has always been such a well mannered, soft hearted, gentle boy. He won’t want to hurt anyone, but Jeremiah will force him if he has to. He’ll even hunt for him if need be. He’ll do anything to keep his darling healthy. 

Bruce will get over it, he’ll adapt. 

Jeremiah’s hand presses against Bruce’s warm, blood smeared chest. He can feel his heart thumping away in a steady rhythm that Jeremiah has remembered since the day they first met. 

Not yet. He won’t change him yet. He can give Bruce a few more years, let him grow into the man that he’s destined to become. Let him reach his peak before Jeremiah changes him. Then they can be together, together forever, two portraits of perfection until the world rots around them. 

It’s a romantic, novel thought, and Jeremiah eagerly looks forward to that thought becoming reality.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you guys enjoyed horny simp vampire jeremiah, because damn, i sure enjoyed writing him.
> 
> i have... too many drafts in the works, i don't know which one i'll finish next, so we shall see how this goes.
> 
> anyway, comments and kudos are appreciated!


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